


Thicker than Blood

by Louise_Hargadon



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Badass, Best Friends, Complete, Epic Bromance, Espionage, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gen, Grumpy Athos, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Mystery, Original Character(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Poor Athos, Relationship(s), Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louise_Hargadon/pseuds/Louise_Hargadon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the early part of Season One.  An unexpected visitor from Aramis' past crashes into The Musketeers' world and quickly becomes embroiled in a deadly mission to protect the Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a complete story, I'll be updating every week. I promise it's done! I'm so very proud of this story, and I really hope you enjoy reading it almost as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Thicker than Blood**

**Prologue**

Aramis had been running for too long.

His hat had fallen off not long after he had taken to his heels in pursuit of the thief. It had fallen into a muddy puddle and was probably lost forever, but he didn't care. He just kept on running. The lactic acid had started burning in his thighs which meant that he could hardly feel his legs, yet he ground his teeth and let out a growl of determination as he continued in his pursuit despite the pain.

Normally, he would have let a person who stole a loaf of bread go without hindrance. After all, everybody needed to eat, and just because they didn't have the requisite financial means to buy bread didn't mean that they weren't still human beings who needed sustenance. God cared for the small as well as the great. Normally he would have passed a conspiratorial glance and wink with the thief, to reassure them that it was all right, and when he could afford it, would slip the money for the bread to the baker so that, technically, nothing had actually been stolen. He had known hunger and he had known the depths of despair to which it could drive a man.

However, this time was different. This time, the thief had taken a loaf of bread and, without even turning around properly, had somehow managed to remove the pendant from around the neck of the young lady Aramis was walking with. He had only met her that morning, but she was very charming and they had soon decided to cancel all their other engagements in order to spend the day together. After her necklace was stolen, and tipping his hat to her with a vow that he would apprehend the ruffian, he ran like the wind in pursuit of the offender. The chase had led him through the marketplace, past the tavern, through some areas of Paris that even made Aramis himself feel unsafe, for what seemed like an eternity but had been no longer than five minutes. Whether it was the fact that he hoped his partner would be exceptionally forthcoming with gratitude if he caught the thief, or just the sheer indignation that someone had the audacity to rob a lady while she was in his company and therefore under his protection, Aramis didn't know. All he knew was that the thief was getting away and he probably needed a third lung before he could run any further. He ran past the garrison, and out of his peripheral vision he saw his friends walking out of the gates.

"Where are you going?" a voice called behind him as Aramis' laboured steps started to falter. He didn't even have the energy to stop and speak to Porthos.

"Thief!" he gasped. "Black hood."

"Catch your breath, we'll stop him," Porthos said, clapping him briefly on the shoulder as he took off after the thief, Athos close behind him. With the force of Porthos' hand on his shoulder, Aramis stumbled and then collapsed in a heap on the ground, breathing heavily, his mouth and throat dry. He tried to swallow but it hurt his throat too much, and a coughing fit ensued.

"You're getting old," d'Artagnan said, crouching beside Aramis and handing him a cup of water. Aramis gulped the cold liquid down gratefully and lay back on the ground, closing his eyes as he felt every muscle in his body throbbing with exertion as it forced itself to repair and recover in less time than it really needed.

"Not old," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he opened his eyes again. "I'm getting more experienced!" With another grunt of exertion, he pulled himself to his feet and continued running after Porthos and Athos. d'Artagnan could do little else but follow his friend, if only to find out what all the fuss was about.

By the time Aramis and d'Artagnan had caught up with Porthos and Athos, they had just cornered the thief in an alleyway. The thief looked around frantically, the face still completely hidden by the hood of the cloak, and a scarf over the nose and mouth.

"I never thought you'd catch him," Aramis said, panting heavily.

"We very nearly didn't. Luckily for us he took a wrong turning," Athos said, his voice unmistakably disinterested. "Since when have we been in the business of apprehending thieves?"

"Since the thief stole a pendant from a lady," Aramis replied, before turning his attention to the dark figure in the corner, who was still desperately trying to find a way out of the inescapable position. He took two steps toward the thief. "Monsieur, please, just return the pendant. Nobody here would begrudge a man a simple meal," he said, his voice kind as he held his hand out to take the pendant. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan all exchanged doubtful glances and mentally readied themselves to defend Aramis should the need arise.

To their surprise, the thief dug into the folds of their oversized black cloak, retrieved the pendant and held it out to Aramis. He raised his eyebrows for a moment in bewilderment before taking hold of the pendant from the thief's outstretched left hand. As he did, the thief pulled Aramis close and punched him hard in the stomach with the free hand.

"Who are you calling 'Monsieur'?" the thief demanded, angrily. Aramis barely had time to recover from the dual shock of the unexpected attack and the fact that his assailant was a woman before she grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

She only managed to run a few paces before she ran bodily into Porthos. He barely even moved at the impact, but held her tightly, hardly reacting to her valiant struggles for freedom.

Aramis stood up slowly, holding onto his knees for a few moments as he recovered his breath. Finally he straightened his back and walked over to the thief, whose face and head were still covered. He grinned as he looked at the outline of her figure, and cleared his throat before speaking.

"I do like a woman with spirit," he said, his eyes gleaming as his lips pinched into a wry grin. Without another word, he pulled her hood back and the scarf from her face. Upon seeing each other, both Aramis and the thief let out a gasp of shock.

"Sophie?" he asked in disbelief. She nodded.

"René? Is it really you?" she asked. His eyes flitted quickly across her face as the smile on his face widened.

"I don't believe it," he murmured.

Had it been another Musketeer in Aramis' place, what happened next would have simply confounded Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan. However, it was Aramis, and the fact that he swept the woman into his arms and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips didn't even raise an eyebrow among them.

"I take it you are acquainted after all," Athos said, blinking once.

"Not necessarily," Porthos said, his eyes glinting mischievously as d'Artagnan giggled at his friend's joke. Aramis beamed at his friends.

"Gentlemen. I must apologise. Allow me to introduce you," he began.

What Aramis said next was so astonishing that even Athos' mouth dropped open in amazement.

"This is Sophie Boniface. My wife," he declared, squeezing her waist.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

The tavern was a lot less crowded than usual, and finding a secluded booth proved to be no trouble at all for the four friends and their new acquaintance.

Two carafes of wine magically appeared, and nobody sat at the table could help but wonder who was going to pay for the drinks this time. Porthos decided that it would be better to have already drunk the wine by the time the bill was to be paid than to give the tavern-owner a chance to take the wine back again, and so very kindly poured wine into everyone's cups.

d'Artagnan sat on one side of Sophie while Aramis sat on the other, and Porthos and Athos sat across the table from them. The three of them looked her over carefully when she had taken off her cloak. Sophie was wearing a faded blue footman's livery. It was slightly ill-fitting in obvious places but her general appearance was that of a boy around d'Artagnan's age. Her figure was neither slight nor plump, she was of a sturdy build and carried herself with an air of confidence that indicated she knew how to take care of herself in a fight. She had long, brown hair that was tied at the back with a black ribbon, and loose strands of hair kept falling onto her face and distracting her. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence, and Athos couldn't help but notice that her gaze kept darting around the room. He wondered if she was trying to find an escape. He set his shoulders back slightly and tilted his chin up, not taking his eyes from her. He didn't know anything about her aside from her name, and that concerned him. Of course, Aramis appeared to trust her, but then Aramis had always been slightly more trusting of people, and especially women, than Athos himself was. Which, he reflected, wasn't particularly difficult.

Athos' silent misgivings were interrupted by Porthos shifting in his seat and almost knocking Athos' cup clean out of his hand.

"Your wife?" Porthos asked, looking pointedly at Aramis. "You kept that quiet."

"We all have our secrets, my friend," Aramis said, grinning widely at him. Porthos shot him a look that was somewhere between mild amusement and thinly veiled derision.

"I suppose we should clarify for them, really," Sophie said in her soft, husky voice, squeezing Aramis' arm. He nodded and smiled indulgently at her, then gestured for her to continue with her explanation. d'Artagnan and Athos exchanged a brief glance of concern but didn't interrupt. "We have been married twice. First we were married when we were six years old. Nobody else knew about it and it obviously wasn't a real wedding, but it was a beautiful ceremony under a cherry tree in the springtime, with blossom everywhere."

"Sweeping romantic gestures have always been my strongest suit," Aramis agreed, taking a very large swig of wine. Athos took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "The second time we were seventeen and we were married against our parents' will by a rather unscrupulous cleric who took the little money we had saved in order to perform the ceremony. The following day, Sophie's father had the marriage annulled. It was a little late by then, of course, for a true annulment, but nevertheless the marriage was deemed to be no longer valid."

"Not long afterwards, René was sent away by his parents to train as a priest, and that was the last I saw of him until today," Sophie said, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "Seventeen years ago. Good God." She picked up her full cup of wine and drained it in five gulps as though it were water. Athos looked at her in surprise, his eyes widening for a moment before he composed himself.

"All that running built up a thirst, did it?" Porthos asked, nodding towards her empty cup. She looked right at him, her chin tilted slightly upwards as a playful smirk threatened at the corners of her lips.

"Something like that," she said, raising her left eyebrow as she smiled impishly at him. Porthos replied with a wolfish grin and refilled her cup for her. "That's very kind of you, monsieur."

"Porthos," he corrected her. She beamed at him.

"It's a name I shan't forget," she promised.

"So... I'm sorry, none of this makes sense," d'Artagnan said, frowning. She turned to him and furrowed her brow slightly.

"Which part, boy? The part about us getting married, or the part... no, I'm afraid that's all I've really said so far," she answered. d'Artagnan looked awkwardly at the table for a moment before looking back at her.

"My name is d'Artagnan, madame. I am not a boy," he replied. She nodded.

"Very well, d'Artagnan Madame, what would you like me to explain to you?" she asked, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling. Aramis let out a small snort of laughter and the right side of Athos' mouth twitched into a smirk at her sharp-witted response.

"Why are you in Paris, and why are you dressed as a man?" d'Artagnan asked. "Why did you steal a loaf of bread and a lady's pendant?"

Athos, Porthos and Aramis all leaned in close to Sophie at this point, studying her reaction. They had all been wondering the same thing but weren't sure exactly how to ask it. Fortunately for them, their little Gascon friend always tended to favour the direct approach. She stared back at all of them, matching their curious looks of distrust.

"I stole the bread because I was starving, and I stole the pendant to buy some girls' clothes. I have been masquerading as a twenty-one year old boy for the last eight months. Let me tell you, mon petit chou, being a man is difficult, but it is a lot easier than being a woman who must hide her true nature," she said.

"Twenty-one?" Athos asked, doubtfully. Sophie looked at him and didn't answer for a few moments.

"You doubt me, monsieur?" she said, a note of indignation and hurt in her voice that Athos hadn't expected. "You think I could not pass myself off as a boy so young? You think that I am a liar, is that it?"

"Madame, not thirty minutes ago, my friend and I had apprehended you as a thief. I do not _know_ you," he said, his cold, piercing stare boring into her soul so deeply that she felt uncomfortable.

"Athos!" Aramis protested. Sophie held up her hand to stop him.

"No, he is right," she said. "Are you going to arrest me, Monsieur Athos?" she asked. Athos held her gaze for a few moments too long and finally looked away from her.

"As Aramis said, we would not begrudge you a meal," he answered. She nodded and stood up from the table.

"In that case, I will leave. I have business of my own to attend to," she said. "Excuse me, please," she muttered, nudging d'Artagnan's thigh with her knee to make him move out of her way.

"What business?" d'Artagnan asked. She looked at him sharply for a fraction of a second before her expression softened. Something about his young, hopeful face made her forget how angry she felt.

"My business, I'm afraid," she answered, smiling kindly at him. "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience I caused today," she called over her shoulder as she walked towards the door.

"Sophie!" Aramis shouted, rushing over to her and grabbing her arm. She looked at his hand and then looked up at him. His eyes flickered with guilt as he released his grasp on her. "Will I see you again?" he asked, gently. She smiled ruefully and shook her head.

"I would love that, but I cannot promise it," she answered, sadly. "I am so glad you're alive and safe. I've thought of you so often." Aramis pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead.

"May God keep you safe," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders lovingly. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"I often pray for the same thing," she said. She bit her lip and paused for a moment. "I know that it must appear I am not the woman you expected me to become, but - but you should know that not everything is always as it seems," she finished. She took one last glance at d'Artagnan, Porthos and Athos who were sat watching them with interest, then she smiled and left the tavern.

"She seems... erm," d'Artagnan said, shifting along the bench to make room for Aramis as he returned to them. "Troubled?" he offered, trying to be tactful. Aramis shook his head, sadly.

"More than troubled, I think. Perhaps... perhaps frightened," he said, his tone distant and distracted. He took a swig of wine and took hold of the carafe to refill his cup. "We're out of wine," he muttered, glancing reproachfully at Athos. Athos met his gaze, a slight dullness in his eyes and smirk on his lips indicating exactly where the wine had disappeared to. "I wish we could have done something to help her."

"We did. We failed to arrest her," Athos pointed out.

"You didn't like her at all, did you?" Aramis asked, chuckling at his friend. Athos looked at the bottom of his empty cup for a moment before looking back up at Aramis.

"I don't know her. And neither do you, any more," he answered, seriously.

"I liked her," Porthos said. "She seemed like a fiesty one," Aramis laughed and nodded.

"She certainly used to be," he agreed. "Something is wrong, I can feel it. I just wish she could have told us more."

"Here," d'Artagnan offered, pushing a fresh carafe of wine down the table to Aramis. "This will help." Aramis looked at him and then at Athos.

"You've been around Athos for too long!" he teased, squeezing d'Artagnan's shoulder affectionately. He poured another cup of wine for himself and sat back, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something is wrong. I know Sophie."

A heavy silence descended upon the table as Aramis wallowed in memories he had thought were forever lost. Memories of climbing trees, learning to fence with wooden sticks in the courtyard of Sophie's house. Their childish wedding vows made in front of Sophie's favourite doll. Lying side by side on top of the hill, staring at the stars and pouring out their thirteen-year-old hearts to each other because they knew that nobody else would understand them. Making plans to run away together and start a new life. The first time he kissed her, against the outside kitchen wall, the feel of her soft lips on his skin, the way it hurt in the best possible way as she twisted strands of his hair around her fingers and pulled firmly as their kiss deepened. Their wedding night when they made love for the first time, how warm her body felt next to his and how even now he could remember every last moment of that night so vividly that his entire body tingled. How he truly never believed there would ever be a moment in his life without her by his side. The pain in his heart as his father manhandled him onto a coach and sent him to the seminary, knowing he would never see his Sophie again. Not many days went by in his life when he hadn't thought about her, wondered what she was doing, if she had married again, if she was with someone who would take care of her and allow her to be the woman he had loved instead of expecting her to become a brainless, spineless extension of her husband. He was just glad that she was still alive and still just as beautiful as he remembered - even if there was something troubling her. If only he had been able to speak to her for longer, he knew that she would have opened up to him.

While Porthos and d'Artagnan drank more wine and tried to think of a plausible way to either fool the owner of the tavern into believing they had already paid, or to create a substantial diversion to distract him from the fact they had now finished three carafes of wine and had no way of paying for any of it, Athos stared unashamedly at Aramis. Athos wasn't a harsh, unfeeling man. He tried to be, but he wasn't. He recognised the pain on his friend's face, the torment, the confusion, the flashbacks to happier times. It was all there, etched on Aramis' face. For a few moments, he thought of Sophie. While it was quite true that he didn't know her, that he couldn't trust her because he didn't know her, he reminded himself that he did know Aramis. Just because Aramis trusted more easily than Athos did, that didn't mean Aramis was gullible or a fool. He had a heart larger than France itself, and the honour and courage to match it. Athos had, on countless occasions, trusted Aramis with his very life - and Aramis had never given him a moment's reason to doubt him. Perhaps he had been too harsh on the woman. Perhaps he should stop judging all women based on his past experiences. Not all were like that. At least, he hoped they weren't.

"Aramis?" Athos said, jolting Aramis out of his reverie. Aramis looked up at him forlornly. "We need to go. Treville is expecting us." It was a lie, of course. Monsieur de Treville wasn't expecting them at all. Athos just knew that if he was left to drown his sorrows, Aramis would go to the same dark place that Athos himself went to in these moments of anguish, and he would do anything to spare Aramis that level of heartache. The only distraction he knew was to keep him busy.

"He is?" Aramis asked, distantly. Porthos looked up at Athos and frowned.

"He is?" he repeated, confused. Athos shot him a look which needed no translation.

"Yes. Come. We'll be late," he said, putting his hat back on his head and making his way to the door. All four men were stopped in their tracks by a piercing scream. Aramis' face dropped.

"Sophie," he murmured, pushing Porthos and Athos out of his way as he raced outside. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan could do no more than follow him, almost dreading what they would find when they got outside.

Sophie's cries came from the alley at the side of the tavern, where she was embroiled in a fight with three large men. Aramis skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway and roared an oath at them to distract them. As they turned around, Sophie managed to punch one in the jaw so hard that she knocked him out cold. Another of her attackers grabbed her by her hair, pulling some out from her scalp and hurting her neck in the process. Punching her in the stomach with all his might, she let out a sickening groan as she involuntarily vomited onto the man's shoes. In his disgust, he picked her up bodily and threw her down the alleyway as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. The force of impact on the cobbled pavement immediately knocked her unconscious. As Athos was nearest to Sophie, he instinctively raced to her side to tend to her.

"You cowards! You want to fight a man, fight me!" Aramis yelled, storming over to them. He felt d'Artagnan's presence at his right shoulder, shortly followed by Porthos at his right.

"You fight one of us, you fight all of us!" d'Artagnan shouted. Porthos said nothing but drew himself to his full height and growled through his menacing grin.

"That boy owed us money! Cheated at cards!" the man who had punched Sophie said.

"Cheated at cards, Aramis. Tut tut tut. That's a nasty trick," Porthos said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"Oh, well, if she cheated at cards, that's different," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he playfully clapped Porthos on the shoulder. His expression quickly changed to one of seething rage as he continued advancing towards the men with Porthos and d'Artagnan by his side.

"She?" the man repeated. Porthos nodded, cracking his knuckles as he clenched his fists.

"Hitting a woman, Porthos. That's a nasty trick too," Aramis said, grimly, not taking his eyes off the man responsible for Sophie's injuries.

"Porthos? Aramis?" the other man said, his voice suddenly seized with terror. "Not Porthos of The Musketeers?" he asked. Porthos grinned widely at him and nodded.

Before Porthos, Aramis or d'Artagnan had chance to raise a finger, the men let out a cry of terror and ran away. Aramis and Porthos looked at each other and shrugged.

"That was an anti-climax," Aramis said, blandly.

"I hate those," Porthos agreed, before letting out a dirty chuckle. Aramis let out a snort of laughter and turned back towards Sophie.

Sophie's head was in Athos' lap, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Athos stroked her hair with one hand and gently tapped her cheek with the other to bring her round.

"Sophie? Sophie, it's Athos. Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice unusually kind and gentle. Sophie's eyes eventually flickered open, and with great effort she reached out a hand and grasped hold of Athos' jacket.

"Take me to Her Majesty," she whispered.

"The Queen?" Athos said. Aramis crouched beside Athos and looked questioningly at him. "Why to the Queen?" he asked, frowning. Sophie tugged desperately at his jacket and his face filled with concern. "What is it?"

"Tell her," she gasped, with great effort. "The Blue Falcon." Athos' frown deepened.

"The Blue Falcon?" he repeated. She nodded.

"He is here," she murmured. Athos and Aramis exchanged a concerned glance.

"Who is he, Sophie?" Aramis asked, taking Sophie's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

It was too late. Sophie had slipped back into unconsciousness. Aramis realised that if they were to save her, they needed help - and they needed it quickly.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Forgive me, I didn't realise that the word 'hospital' was written above my husband's door!"

Constance Bonacieux rested her hands on her hips and looked sternly at the men in front of her. As if she didn't have enough to do without those four rogues at her door wanting help every five minutes. It was like having three more brothers to take care of - and she still hadn't quite figured out how to accurately categorise d'Artagnan's place in her heart. Or at least, she still wasn't quite brave enough to do so. Not aloud, anyway.

"I didn't know what else to do. She needs help and I know how good you are at helping people," d'Artagnan said, looking down at her with wide, puppy-dog eyes. Constance pouted slightly. It wasn't fair that he looked at her like that, he knew that it instantly made her forget how annoyed she was with him.

"You know how much of a fool I am, you mean!" she said, turning her back on him.

Constance now turned her attention to Sophie, who was barely conscious and held easily in Porthos' big, strong arms. There was no danger of him dropping her, Aramis would never have entrusted Sophie to anyone else. Porthos had carried heavier weights than Sophie during battle, but since the moment he picked her up, his entire demeanour changed, as though Aramis had entrusted him with the entire riches of France. As a result, and although she didn't know it at the time, Sophie could not have been in a safer place than in Porthos' arms. Constance couldn't help but notice how upset Aramis was and how fiercely Athos was staring at the floor.

"What happened to her?" she asked, her eyes full of concern.

"She was attacked by three men," Athos said. Constance's eyes widened.

"Then for heaven's sake, get the poor woman into bed! She's been through enough. Bring her in here, Porthos!" she called over her shoulder as she made her way into her own bedroom. "My husband is away on business, she'll stay here until she's better."

"She can't stay here for long. She has a message for Her Majesty," Athos said.

"I don't care if she's got a message for the Pope from God himself! She's staying here until she's better," Constance insisted. Athos looked a little surprised at Constance's outburst, but said nothing. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Her name is Sophie," Aramis said, his eyes glossy with tears and his voice cracking slightly with emotion. Constance stared at him, expectantly. "She's an old friend." Constance folded her arms and raised her left eyebrow.

"I'm sure she is," she said, dryly.

Porthos laid Sophie gently onto the bed and made sure her head was well supported with pillows before stretching her arms and legs out to make her comfortable. He took two steps back and squeezed Aramis' arm comfortingly. Aramis looked up at him and forced a rueful smile, which was the best he could muster. Constance sighed and shook her head.

"I promise she'll be all right. I'll take care of her," she said, stroking Aramis' arm. He nodded, unable to take his gaze away from Sophie. "She needs rest, that's the best medicine for her right now. I'll clean her up and get her into some more appropriate clothes," she said, running the fabric of Sophie's jacket between her thumb and first two fingers. "Does anyone know why she's dressed as a boy?"

"She didn't say," d'Artagnan said. "We assume it's something to do with the message she has for Her Majesty."

"So she's a spy?" Constance asked.

"We don't know," Aramis said, shrugging helplessly. "She... left our company as quickly as she entered it," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at Athos, who stared back at him unflinchingly.

"What did you do?" Constance said, turning to Athos. He looked back at her.

"The woman has message for the Queen. Her Majesty's life could very well depend upon it," he answered.

Constance was used to Athos' complete avoidance of subjects he had no intention of discussing, but this time was different. A woman had been attacked and needed help, and rather than show any degree of concern for her, Athos acted as though she was a complete inconvenience, no matter how much his behaviour visibly upset Aramis. His actions were wholly unlike him. He would do anything for his friends, but he would never purposely act in a way that would hurt any of them. The fact that he couldn't even bring himself to look at Sophie lying on the bed, her breathing shallow, bruising appearing on her face before their very eyes, dried blood caked around her mouth, puzzled Constance. Athos had seen people in worse states than this before, she knew that. He was a soldier. He had seen men die. Friends. Brothers. He was not squeamish in any way. It wasn't as though he had beaten Sophie himself, he would never treat a woman in that way. His reaction was altogether bewildering.

"This poor woman," she said, pointing at Sophie, "is not leaving this house until she is fit and well. If you are so concerned about the message, then I suggest that you deliver it yourself." Athos looked at her, his lips pinched into something resembling a scowl.

"We can't just walk into the palace and demand to see the Queen!" d'Artagnan protested. Aramis frowned at the floor, deep in thought for a few moments, before looking up at Porthos.

"There must be a way," he said, hopefully.

"Can you think of anything?" Porthos asked. Aramis paused for a moment, took the cross that the Queen had given to him and kissed it jubilantly.

"She did say it would keep me safe, didn't she?"

"Was this before or after The Stare?" Porthos asked. Aramis grinned and winked at Porthos but didn't answer.

"Let me get this straight," d'Artagnan said, holding one hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger of his other hand. "You're going to charm your way in to see Her Majesty?" Aramis clamped his hand on d'Artagnan's arm.

"Each man must play to his own strengths. Can I help it if mine is charm?" he asked with a smile.

"It certainly isn't modesty," Constance muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. Porthos let out a loud and hearty laugh at her retort while Aramis held up his hands in defeat, smiling wryly. His facial expression dropped as he walked over to Constance and took hold of each of her hands gently.

"Promise me you won't let any harm come to Sophie?" he asked, seriously. Constance looked back into his eyes and could see the distress in his expression. She nodded.

"I'll stay with her every minute," she promised. Athos cleared his throat before joining in the conversation.

"I'll stay," he decided. Aramis turned and looked at him in vague disbelief. "If someone is intent for her to not make it to the Queen, then there is a chance we may have been followed. It would be unwise for us to leave Madame Bonacieux and the mademoiselle alone," he said. Aramis frowned at him doubtfully and Athos lowered his head slightly as he looked directly into Aramis' eyes. "She will be safe," he promised, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he gently placed his hand on Aramis' arm. Aramis paused and nodded. He turned to Constance and tipped his hat, then without any further ceremony, he left with d'Artagnan and Porthos.

Athos sat at the kitchen table, staring solidly at a knot in the wood, while Constance prepared a bowl of water and a damp cloth.

"I can take care of myself, you know," she said, breaking the tense silence.

"Was that ever in doubt?" Athos asked, not moving his head but looking up at her.

"You don't have to stay."

There was a pause while Athos carefully considered his response. "Yes I do."

His tone was low and even, yet something in his manner told Constance not to argue with him. She set the bowl of water down on the table and reached a hand across to touch Athos' hand.

"It isn't your fault," she said, her voice soft and kind. Athos didn't answer but lowered his head to indicate the end of the conversation.

Without pushing for further dialogue, which she knew would have been pointless to even attempt, Constance went into the bedroom and began to tend to Sophie's wounds. When the lukewarm water came into contact with Sophie's wrists, she murmured faintly and, as Constance patted the cloth on her forehead, she opened her eyes.

"Hello, there. You certainly had us worried," Constance told her, smiling kindly. Sophie frowned and swallowed.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"My name is Constance. Aramis and his friends brought you here to my husband's house where you'll be safe."

"Where is he?"

"He's gone to the palace to deliver your message."

"Message?"

"Apparently you had a message for the Queen."

"Yes. I do. I should go," Sophie decided, forcing herself to sit up. Constance put her hand on Sophie's shoulder.

"No. You should rest," she answered, kindly but firmly. "You need food, sleep and some proper clothes. Although if you hadn't had such tight binding around you, I'm afraid you would have been in an even worse state than you are now," she added. Sophie looked down and saw that her jacket and shirt had been removed so that Constance could clean her wounds, but that the binding around her chest was still intact.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Constance said, smiling at Sophie. She quietly continued cleaning Sophie's wounds as Sophie started to fall asleep again. "I think you worried Athos," she said, in a low voice. Sophie's eyes snapped open.

"Athos?" she repeated, her cheeks flushing slightly at the mention of his name. She didn't know why Athos' reaction or opinion mattered to her. After all, he had been nothing but rude to her, from the way he looked at her to the way he spoke to her. Yet when he had looked at her, something in his eyes had burned deep into her soul, which had caught her completely off-guard, momentarily taking her breath away and making her heart beat a little faster. She couldn't help but hope she would see him again, and perhaps those eyes would gaze deeply into her soul once more.

"He isn't as... _Athos_... as he seems," Constance finally answered. She had used his name as an adjective for years. There was never really anything more appropriate to describe his surly, arrogant, cold and cynical outer shell. The man underneath had a gentle heart and a fierce loyalty, she knew that. That side of him wasn't hidden too deeply, but it was a side that strangers rarely saw of him.

"He is with Aramis?" she asked. Constance shook her head.

"No. He's in the kitchen. He offered to stay behind in case we needed protection."

"I don't need protection."

"Neither do I. He knows that. But I know that if Athos is here, nothing bad will happen. You need to know that too, because you need to concentrate on getting better, not worrying about those people finding you again," Constance said. Sophie nodded and closed her eyes again before drifting back to sleep. Constance smiled softly to herself as she left the room.

Athos sat at the table, still staring solidly at the knot in the wood. He should not have been so brusque with Sophie. If he had been more pleasant, if he had tried to be less protective of Aramis, perhaps she would have stayed with them a little longer. Maybe only another five minutes, but long enough to avoid those men altogether. Long enough so that she would have made it safely to the Queen with her message. As a result of his behaviour, Aramis was worried sick, his three friends had had to go to the palace themselves to try and get an impromptu audience with the Queen - and Sophie was lying in Constance's bed, lucky to be alive.

Constance had said that it wasn't his fault, but how could he believe her? How could that be true? She wasn't there, she didn't know, she didn't understand how he had acted. It was inexcusable, it was rude, it was not the way he had been brought up to treat people. He had accused her of being a thief and a liar and had entirely forgotten that he was a gentleman in his haste to presume the worst of her.

She had been loved by Aramis, and clearly Aramis still felt a great deal of affection towards her. Aramis had a reputation for being a great lover of women, and that this was often misconstrued for him viewing women as little more than bedfellows and serving-wenches. However, Athos knew that in truth, Aramis was a genial, compassionate, kind-hearted soul who simply understood and enjoyed the company of women. As the woman who held such a singular place in Aramis' heart, Sophie must have been the one who had helped to shape his views on the entire sex. By comparison, Athos' views on women had been largely shaped by his own wife, Anne. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stop thinking of her almost as soon as he had started. It was too early in the day and he was too sober to deal with her memory.

There was something about Sophie that he had admired. The fire in her eyes, her stubbornness. The way her chin tilted in defiance when she spoke. There was something else, too. He could not quite define what it was. There was an easy gentleness about her, she had her own unique charm. Her eyes sparkled with life and she seemed to care little about what other people thought of her. The way his stomach churned as he saw her battered and broken body on the cobbled street as though she was a discarded toy.

He recognised the feelings that were coming up into his heart and he shook his head vigorously, as if that action would literally shake his thoughts out of his ears. He could ill afford feelings of that nature. The Queen's life was potentially in danger. Sophie herself still had a job to do to protect the Queen, as did he. The last thing he needed was to complicate matters by allowing his heart to rule his head. He had learned from experience how badly emotions tended to get in the way of duty.

"I've never known anyone find our kitchen table so fascinating," Constance said, breaking the heavy silence as she walked into the room. Athos looked up at her.

"How is Sophie?" he asked. It had been the first time he had called Sophie by her name since they had rescued her and, to his abject dismay, he found that he liked the way her name felt on his tongue.

"She's asleep now. But she'll be fine. She just needs rest."

Athos nodded and looked back down at the table.

"I acted out of turn," he said. Constance pursed her lips for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

"I wonder how Aramis and the others are faring?" she asked, deciding that the best course of action would be to follow Athos' example and change the subject. The right side of Athos' mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Doubtless, they will be getting into far more trouble than they need to," he said, his eyes twinkling as he imagined their escapades. Constance couldn't help but chuckle at her own imagination of the scene.

Of course, neither of them had any way of knowing that Athos' prediction could not possibly have been more accurate.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"You've had some stupid ideas in the past, Aramis - but this! This is your worst idea yet!" Porthos said, rubbing his gloved hand over his face in despair. They had entered the palace grounds and were walking towards the guard station. Aramis was clutching the cross that the Queen had given to him tightly in his left hand and rubbed his thumb over one of the beads on the chain. "It'll never work! It's too simple!"

"It will work, trust me."

"You cannot just go up to the guards and ask for an audience with the Queen," d'Artagnan said, shaking his head. Aramis raised both his eyebrows slightly as he shrugged.

"I can always try," he said.

"We could go to Treville and ask him to arrange it," Porthos said. Aramis rolled his eyes.

"We may not have time to wait for that. What if this Blue Falcon is an assassin? Should we wait for protocol and risk the Queen's life?" he demanded, grabbing Porthos by his jacket and pulling him closer, a slight tinge of panic in his voice and eyes. Porthos returned Aramis' hard stare for a few moments before faltering.

"We'll wait for you. We'll be in one of the nearby corridors. Shout if you need us," he said, pulling away and clamping his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?" Aramis asked, innocently. Porthos tilted his chin slightly downward as he looked at Aramis.

"Like what!" he repeated, scornfully.

Porthos sometimes wished that he didn't know Aramis as well as he did. Aramis would never admit aloud to having any opinion about the Queen save for his acknowledgement of her beauty - and as Aramis was one of those rare men who could naturally see the beauty in all women, his words could have been taken as a statement of fact rather than an opinion. Porthos knew that France came first for all of them, and that it was their bounden duty to protect the Royal couple from any and all danger. Aramis was doing his job, of course he was. That would be how Aramis would justify his actions, even to himself. Porthos knew, though, that Aramis was going beyond the call of duty because of how he personally felt about the Queen. He felt a small twinge of sadness deep in his heart that Aramis' feelings amounted to nothing more than a desire never to be fulfilled.

If it had been any other Musketeer in the regiment, Porthos would have told him to stop being so ridiculous and wait for official confirmation of an arranged appointment with the Queen. Another hour or two out of their lives probably wouldn't affect the Queen's safety at all. But no, it was Aramis - one of the closest, most loving and loved friends that Porthos had ever made, and he would have gladly indulged Aramis in any scheme he came up with because, knowing Aramis, the more hare-brained and silly the idea, the more likely it was to work out absolutely perfectly.

Aramis took off his hat and clasped it to his chest before walking away from the two friends. d'Artagnan looked up at Porthos.

"Will it work?" he asked. Porthos shrugged.

"If anyone can make it work, it's Aramis," he said.

"I don't see how. They won't just let a Musketeer in without an appointment or a summons. Especially not to see the Queen. What would the King say?" d'Artagnan asked, shaking his head.

"Don't underestimate Aramis," Porthos said, watching Aramis stride confidently towards the guards. "If anyone can make a direct approach look subtle, it's him."

They followed Aramis at a safe distance and, once Aramis had been granted access past the main guards and into the Queen's chambers, they waited quietly in the adjacent corridor. Their view of the guards outside the Queen's room was a little obscured by a pillar, but they decided that as they couldn't see the guards, there was little chance of the guards seeing them, and therefore their position was a prime one.

Aramis straightened his shoulders, tilted his chin upwards confidently and marched up to the guards on duty outside the Queen's room. The guards narrowed their eyes suspiciously at him. They had known of Aramis and his reputation and quietly supposed that he had come to woo one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting.

"It's a bit early for the likes of you, isn't it?" one of the guards asked. Aramis frowned slightly in confusion.

"I have apprehended a thief who had taken something belonging to Her Majesty," he answered. The guard shrugged.

"What do you want, a round of applause?" he asked. Aramis smiled indulgently at the guard's poor attempt at humour.

"I would much like to return the item to Her Majesty myself. As I have taken such great pains to retrieve the item, I would like to be sure that she does, in fact, receive it," Aramis said. He held out in front of him the cross that the Queen had given to him. The guard took it from him, looked over the item and nodded.

"It is certainly the property of the Queen," the guard said. He put the item in his pocket and chuckled sardonically. "You leave it with me."

"Oh I couldn't do that," Aramis said, raising his left eyebrow. "How am I to know it will ever leave your pocket?" he asked, fixing a smile to his face as his eyes hardened.

"You distrust me, monsieur?" the guard asked, feigning offence. Aramis didn't let his smile slip.

"I suggest you take it to her immediately, before I have cause to give your name to Captain Treville who, I am sure, would be more than happy to pass on to the King himself. There is definitely a law against stealing from the Queen, and I don't think His Majesty would view the matter lightly, do you?" he asked. The guard's expression dropped and he coughed awkwardly before swallowing.

"Just a little joke," he answered, visibly embarrassed. "No need to bring His Majesty into it."

The guard opened the door to the chamber and Aramis waited. He exchanged a smile and a nod with the other guard on duty and an embarrassed silence filled the air. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the guard returned, looking puzzled.

"The Queen seems to know who you are. She wants to thank you personally. You may go in," he said, quite baffled by the Queen's eager insistence on seeing Aramis. Aramis smiled, bowed his head slightly and walked through the door.

In the centre of the room stood Queen Anne. She was small, dwarfed by her enormous dress. It looked heavy and cumbersome and she did not look at all comfortable in it, no matter how resplendent her countenance seemed to be. Aramis bowed low to her and, after a pause, ventured to look up at her. She held the cross by its chain and the sunlight pouring through the window reflected off the gold, almost as dazzling as the Queen herself.

"Aramis," Anne said, a smile taking over her entire face almost without her knowledge. "Only among the bravest of all the King's Musketeers," she added, her eyes glinting impishly. Aramis briefly glanced away from her, blushing slightly before returning her gaze.

"Your Majesty, please forgive my impudence and the subterfuge in coming to see you. It is, I am afraid, an emergency," he said, straightening up but not breaking eye contact with her. She shook her head.

"There is nothing to forgive," she answered, softly. "Do you have a request of your Queen? Is there anything you desire that I might grant to you?" she asked, walking towards him and standing unashamedly in his personal space. She took hold of his hand and pressed the cross into his palm.

Aramis looked deeply into her eyes and, for a moment, forgot all that had previously been on his mind. He forgot about the Blue Falcon. He forgot about saving Anne's life. He forgot that he was just a Musketeer and that Anne was a queen and for a beautiful moment imagined how it would feel if he could take her into his arms and press her body into his as he kissed her, how her arms would feel around his neck, running her fingers through his hair, the soft, sweet murmurs of pleasure she would utter as he would run his lips gently down her throat.

His mind had wandered a little too far when reality struck him and he took a step back from her.

"If it would please Your Majesty to grant me five minutes' conference with her. I have urgent news that may present a danger to the Queen's very life," he answered. Anne's eyes widened in surprise.

"My life?"

"I have a message from Sophie Boniface," he said. Anne frowned slightly.

"From Sophie?" she asked. "She is one of my most trusted agents. Why is she not here to deliver the message herself? How do you know her?"

"Sophie is my oldest friend."

"Friend?" she repeated. "Just your friend?" she asked, almost embarrassed of the question. Aramis pursed his lips slightly and shook his head.

"She was my wife. A long time ago, another lifetime. We were very young and very foolish. We had not seen each other for many years and only met by chance earlier today. She was wounded badly in trying to deliver her message to Your Majesty," he said. Anne covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her eyes widening with concern.

"Sophie is hurt? Where is she now?" Anne asked. "You must be worried about her."

"Sophie is a brave, strong woman. I know she is being well taken care of. My main concern at this moment is Your Majesty."

"Me? Why?"

"I am a servant of France, and of the King. By extension my duty is to protect your life," Aramis said, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. Anne pressed her lips together into a thin smile.

"I see. Is that... is 'duty' your only reason, Aramis?" she asked, hopefully.

"There is no woman on this earth that I would sooner lay down my life for than Your Majesty," he answered, seriously. Anne's eyes lit up with joy. "All my brothers in the Musketeer regiment would answer with the same words. Duty is the only reason we need to serve you," he added. Anne's smile faded. Aramis clamped his lips together for a moment, horrified that he may have hurt her by giving her a less than honest answer. "Your Majesty must realise that she should be the most important thing in the King's life. I know that, were I a married man, my wife would be the very reason that I breathed air. It is only natural that the King should feel that way too." Anne raised her eyebrows briefly.

"Should?" she repeated, before letting out a breath of laughter and nodding. "Perhaps he should. If he does, then I am indeed the most fortunate woman in all of France, having such loyal men to protect me," she answered. They looked at each other silently for a few moments, neither of them sure what to say next. Eventually, Anne felt self-conscious and swallowed hard before speaking. "What was the message that Sophie gave to you?"

"She said that the Blue Falcon is here."

Anne's face fell, the colour drained from her cheeks and her hands flew to her mouth to catch the shriek of terror that fell from her lips. Without any further warning, she started tugging at her own clothes, ripping off her collar, pulling at her sleeves. Aramis genuinely had no idea what to do, he didn't know whether he should reassure her or stop her from whatever she was trying to do, and knowing that if he touched her without permission the penalties would be too great for him to think about.

"Help!" he finally called out, having no other alternative available to himself.

"Help me!" she cried. "Nicole!"

A small, red-haired woman, of a very similar build to Anne, scurried in to the Queen's private room, looking horrified. "Your Majesty!"

"Nicole, undress me, quickly. We must change clothes at once," she said. Nicole frowned in confusion but obediently began to undress. Aramis screwed his eyes shut and turned his face down so that even if he did open his eyes he would only see the floor. "You may turn your back, Aramis," Anne said. Aramis nodded and turned around as garments rustled behind him.

"May I ask what is going on?" he finally ventured.

"You need to get me out of here. You need to get me out of here right now. I am not safe here," she said. "Nicole, please fetch me an old cloak. Not mine, I will be recognised." With a mutter of obedience, Aramis heard Nicole run out of the room.

"But Your Majesty, we are in the Palace. You are surrounded by guards. How much safer could you possibly be?" Aramis asked.

"That's the problem, I am not safe here. I am not safe in any place I would normally be found. Please no longer address me as Your Majesty. I am Anne. Just simple, plain, Anne," she said, firmly.

"Your Majesty-"

"ANNE!" she shouted, her voice strained with panic. Aramis sighed slightly and nodded.

"Anne. You are neither simple nor plain," he said.

For a moment she stopped dressing and fussing over her clothes to stare at Aramis. Even though his back was turned to her - in fact, especially because his back was turned to her. Nobody had ever spoken so honestly and with such little self-consciousness to her before. She took a moment to note the curve of his back, of the way his hair curled around his collar, of how broad his shoulders were and how those arms had once so fearlessly and gently protected her in a previous attempt on her own life. She remembered how often, alone in her bed at night, she had remembered how warm and safe she felt in his arms. Although anything could have happened to her, although they both could have died in the gunfight, it was as though time had stood still and her entire world had only consisted of Aramis' eyes and her only sensation was the way he had so gently cradled her head as he had held her close to him for those few moments. She would have never dared admit it to another living soul, but she had often prayed that Aramis would be sent to guard her again one day, so that perhaps she would feel content and protected in his arms once more. She trusted few people in her life, but the one man she knew would keep her safe her against all odds was Aramis.

"Help me, Aramis. Please," she said, her voice small and a little frightened.

Aramis ventured to turn around, doing so cautiously and slowly so that the Queen could stop him if she was still in a state of undress. As he turned around he saw her in a very different dress to the one she had been wearing. A much simpler dress. Still a fine one, but one that would be worn by a lady-in-waiting rather than by the Queen herself. "This will at least get me out of the Palace unnoticed," she explained. He nodded slowly.

"What of the King?" he asked. Anne closed her eyes.

"We will send word to the King of my safety," she said, nodding. "He will understand. But we may not have much time. I need to leave and I need to leave now. Do you know of a safe place?"

"We can go to to the place where Sophie is recovering. Then we can plan where to go from there," Aramis said with a decisive nod. Anne nodded her agreement.

Nicole soon returned with the cloak and draped it around Anne's shoulders.

"What am I to tell the King?" Nicole asked. Anne frowned as she considered her response.

"Tell him I will be safe now."

Aramis stared at Anne. Even though she was now dressed as a servant girl, she still carried herself with royal dignity. She could have dressed in sackcloth and still been the most beautiful woman in all of France.

"Are you ready, Your- Anne?" he asked, correcting himself at the last moment. Anne smiled. She liked the way her name sounded on his lips.

Before she could answer, the door burst open and a shot was fired. Anne and Nicole both screamed in terror and instinctively, Aramis grabbed hold of Anne's shoulder and pushed her to the floor. A masked man was stood before him, a manic bloodlust in his eyes that Aramis had only seen in a man twice before. There was no time to question him or to even think, and as his opponent's pistol was now spent, Aramis drew his sword. Glancing for a moment out of the door he saw that the guards that had been stationed outside the room were both crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

"PORTHOS!" he yelled, hoping beyond hope that his voice would carry far enough so that Porthos would hear him.

The resulting fight between Aramis and the masked man was not a protracted one but was nevertheless a violent one. Swords clattered, elbows were lunged into faces, and Aramis couldn't help but cry out in pain as his opponent's sword sliced through his sleeve, cutting his left arm quite deeply. Just as Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived in the room, Aramis lunged his sword deep into the chest of his opponent and watched him fall to the floor, the bloodlust and all other emotions now drained forever from his eyes. Anne let out a frightened gasp of horror and Nicole fainted clean away.

"What the hell happened here?" Porthos asked, looking at the carnage. Aramis shook his head and Porthos strode quickly over to Nicole, gently tapping her cheek to revive her. "You're safe, mademoiselle," he said, smiling kindly at her. She opened her eyes and looked up at Porthos. Nodding dumbly, she allowed herself to be helped up by him. "Are you all right?" he asked, nodding towards Aramis' bleeding arm.

"There's no time to check, we need to get the Queen out of here," he said, clutching his arm to quell the flow of blood. d'Artagnan's eyes widened.

"Are you sure that's a good ideal?" he asked.

"Aramis acts under my own order," Anne said, visibly shaking as she found herself unable to draw her eyes away from the dead man on the floor in front of her. d'Artagnan nodded his apologies and bowed to the Queen. He bent down to the body of the dead man and removed his mask.

"Is this the Blue Falcon?" he asked. Anne shook her head. "Then he has accomplices," d'Artagnan realised. Two tears slowly trickled down Anne's face as she stared at the dead man's face. Aramis, forgetting protocol in favour of his overwhelming sense of pity for Anne, gently wrapped his uninjured arm around her shoulders and held her close to him, being careful to not get any of his blood on her clothes.

"Whoever he is, he will answer to God now," he said, softly, crossing himself and saying a brief, silent prayer to God for the man's soul. "Come on. You need to be brave for just a little longer, and then you will be safe. I won't let any harm come to you."

Anne looked into his eyes and knew that Aramis spoke the truth. With shaking fingers, she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head and allowed herself to be escorted out of the Palace. They were neither seen nor stopped, which Aramis could only attribute to a miracle.

d'Artagnan and Porthos exchanged a brief glance as they walked a few steps ahead of Anne and Aramis.

"What have we got ourselves into?" d'Artagnan asked. Porthos shook his head.

"It's not what we've got ourselves into. It's how we're going to get out of it, that's the problem!" he answered.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

For neither the first nor last time in her life, Constance was grateful that her husband was away. His reaction upon finding Anne of Austria in his kitchen would probably be one of hysteria and apoplexy. Constance's own reaction, however, was one of sheer embarrassment that the Queen of France, of all people, was stood in her house at that very moment. Suddenly her humble home seemed even poorer, and the house that she took pride in keeping clean and comfortable somehow looked poky and unkempt when the Queen  was stood in her kitchen. In her _kitchen_! She didn't even have a room to entertain the Queen in!

"I'm going to need a bigger house," she said, dryly. She caught d'Artagnan's eye and they grinned at each other.

"I am sorry to put you and your husband to any trouble, Madame," Anne said, her delicate brow crinkling into a worried frown. Constance curtseyed and bowed her head.

"Your Majesty's presence is an honour. I am only sorry that my home is so humble and not fit for a queen to stay in," she answered. Anne stepped forward and touched Constance's shoulder gently. Constance looked up and saw Anne smiling kindly at her.

"Your home is warm and comfortable. I should like to hope that here I can find security and friendship - these things are more important to me than the splendour of any palace," Anne said. Constance returned her smile.

"Your Majesty can rest assured of my loyalty and friendship always, both to France and to her," she answered. Anne beamed at her.  

"Aramis promised me I would be safe here," she said.

"Where is Aramis?" Athos asked Porthos.

"Patching himself up at the garrison. He won't be long," Porthos said. 

"What happened?" Constance asked.

"Oh it looks more gruesome than it is," d'Artagnan said, waving his hand carelessly, more for Anne's benefit than for Constance's.

"I'm sure he'll make the most of it, though," Porthos muttered. d'Artagnan smirked to himself as he forced himself not to make eye contact with Porthos.

"Aramis tells me that Sophie is here. May I see her?" Anne asked.

Constance wordlessly escorted Anne into her bedroom where Sophie lay, half-asleep. Athos followed them into the room while Porthos and d'Artagnan remained in the kitchen. Anne's hands flew to her mouth to catch the gasp of horror that escaped from her lips when she saw the bruising and cuts to Sophie's face.

"Sophie!" she whispered, tears filling her big blue eyes. Constance briefly looked over to Athos, unsure of what to say, only to find him gazing at Sophie, his expression one of sorrow and guilt.

"Sophie has likely survived more serious injuries in the service of France. She will be fine," Athos said, not at all convincingly.

"That's right, one or two nights' good rest and she'll be right as rain," Constance agreed, smiling brightly. Anne looked up from Sophie's sleeping form and smiled gratefully at Constance.

"Thank you for taking care of her. I cannot explain how important she is to me," Anne said, her chin wobbling with the effort of holding tears back.

Athos didn't appear to hear Anne's words as he continued gazing at Sophie. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at him.

She couldn't remember who he was at first, and for a few moments she didn't recognise where she was at all, but as she looked around the room and saw the faces of both Constance and Anne, the memories of what had happened flooded back to her.

"Your Majesty!" she murmured, struggling to sit up. Anne touched her shoulder lightly.

"No, Sophie, you must rest," she answered. "I received your message."

"The Blue Falcon," Sophie said, visibly distressed by the weight of the message she had sent to the Queen. Anne nodded.

"There is nothing to worry about for now," Anne told her in a soothing voice. "All you must do is rest. I have the finest of the King's Musketeers to protect me. They won't let any harm come to us."

Sophie nodded vaguely and looked back at Athos. She felt strangely comforted by the sight of his face, his steely blue eyes filled with sorrow gazing upon her, his thick, touseled hair framing his handsome features. He hadn't taken his eyes from her since they had walked into the room, and somehow the knowledge that he was stood beside her made her feel more secure than if he hadn't been there at all.

"We'll leave you to sleep," Constance said, reaching down and squeezing Sophie's hand. She nodded, too tired to argue, and watched them leave the room. Athos was the last to leave and Sophie looked up at him.

"You don't speak, Athos?" she said, quietly. He looked at her for a few moments before replying.

"I find superfluous dialogue tedious," he answered, gruffly. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but return her smile. "I trust you will feel better tomorrow, Madame."

"My name is Sophie," she answered, her tone gently teasing. He nodded once.

"Goodnight, Sophie," he said, a tender quality to his voice that Sophie hadn't heard before.

With no further conversation, Athos left the room and closed the door tightly behind him. He joined the others in the kitchen and sat at the table. A flagon of wine and a goblet were wordlessly passed to him and he promptly filled and emptied the goblet before pouring another drink for himself.

There was quiet and stilted chatter at the table for what felt like hours. Nobody in the house was used to dining intimately with royalty, and Anne was obviously not used to dining with commoners. Nobody was quite sure what to say and all attempts to start conversations were inadvertently met with enthusiastic yet closed responses.

Eventually, to everyone's relief, there was a knock at the door.

"It's me!" Aramis called. Anne's face lit up at the sound of his voice. d'Artagnan opened the door for him and he walked in, his arm in a sling. Anne gasped.

"Aramis, your poor arm!" she exclaimed, standing up. Aramis bowed his head.

"It's nothing, really," he began, holding his wounded arm up and looking forlornly at her. Athos' eyes almost rolled to the back of his head and he couldn't contain a sigh of disdain. Anne, of course, didn't notice his reaction and rushed over to Aramis. She squeezed his hand gently as she looked up at him, her face full of concern.

"It is a comfort to know I am protected by the bravest of the King's Musketeers. But you must stop getting into these scrapes!" she said, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling playfully.

"It's truly nothing, Your Majesty. I've had worse injuries while training with Porthos!" he said, and Anne could have sworn he blushed.

"I can vouch for that!" Porthos said with a warm smile. "Aramis will be fine after a good meal and a few cups of wine, Your Majesty." Aramis nodded in agreement.

"How is Sophie?" he asked. 

"Asleep," Athos said, pouring out another cup of wine and handing it to Aramis.

"She needs the rest, we have much to do," Aramis agreed, sitting down opposite Athos before taking a deep swig of his wine.  "I hope there's plenty where this came from, Constance, it's delicious!" he called out. Before Constance had a chance to answer,  d'Artagnan produced another flagon of wine as if by magic.

With Aramis' very presence making the flow of conversation somehow easier for everyone, the conversation soon turned to the problem at hand. Porthos and d'Artagnan had taken the time during the Queen's earlier audience with Sophie to discuss where the safest place to travel to for safety would be. d'Artagnan had suggested that perhaps the expanse of the countryside would be safer, whereas Porthos had argued that it would be easier to hide the Queen in plain sight, and that they should stay in Paris.

"I can't stay here for too long," Anne said. "Poor Madame Bonacieux already has a house full!"

"Not only that, the guards at the Palace will soon work out where you are," Aramis agreed. "As d'Artagnan lives here and is known to be our close friend, our visits to this house are an almost daily occurrence."

"I think before we talk about where we should take the Queen, it would be more prudent to ask from whom or what we are supposed to be protecting her," Athos said, tilting his head to the side and setting his jaw squarely as he looked at the Queen. The Queen returned his sharp glare unflinchingly.

"An enemy of France, that is all you need to know," she answered. Athos sat back a little in his seat and took another swig of wine before replying.

"I need to know more than that," he said. "Is this Blue Falcon the name of an agent or a group of people?"

"It is the name of a man," Anne said. "A man whose identity I would prefer not to disclose."

"Is he your lover?" Athos asked, bluntly. The Queen's eyes widened in horror.

"Remember your place, sir! I am your Queen! I am beyond your reproach!" she exclaimed, filled with indignation.

"Your morals are not my concern, Your Majesty. Your safety, however, is," Athos answered, completely unfazed by her reaction.

"He is not my lover. I am faithful to His Majesty the King and to France!" she said, passionately. "This man wishes to see me dead. That is all I am prepared to tell you."

"If he wishes to see you dead, why do you protect his identity?" Athos asked. Anne looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"Because I love him," she said, her voice trembling. Athos paused for a moment. To probably any other person sat at the table, the idea of loving someone who meant them nothing but harm would seem like an alien concept. To Athos, however, this seemingly bizarre emotional juxtaposition was simply a fact of his daily life. He understood something of the Queen's emotions, and found himself feeling strangely sorry for her.

"I must warn you, when we find this man - and we will find him - it will be our duty to kill him for conspiring to kill the Queen," he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. Anne shook her head.

"No. He must not be killed. He must be arrested and brought to trial. The King himself must decide how to deal with him," she insisted. Aramis frowned, utterly confused.

"Your Majesty is too benevolent to those who would harm her," he said at last. Anne looked at him and smiled gently. He could feel his heart pounding a little faster as their eyes met. He hoped that she would again press herself to him for comfort or protection, as nothing had felt more right to him in many years than the way Anne had fitted so perfectly into his arms.

"I don't think any of you will be able to make any plans for anything on an empty stomach!" Constance said, bringing over several bowls of boeuf bourguignon to the table.

Porthos, d'Artagnan and Aramis cheered gratefully and sniffed loudly, the heady aroma of the stew filling their senses and making their stomachs audibly rumble. Constance chuckled at their enthusiastic appreciation for the meal and brought a batch of small freshly baked bread rolls to soak up the meat juices. Athos caught Constance's eye and nodded his appreciation to her - both for the meal and for breaking the tension from his conversation with the Queen. Constance grinned at him, and before Athos had time to even look at his bowl, he was delighted to discover another flagon of wine had appeared beside him.

The evening wore on pleasantly, the conversation between the friends flowing easily. Anne had never eaten a meal in such comfortable surroundings before, where the company she kept spoke their minds freely and without fear of consequences. The food was simple, a world away from the lavish dishes that were served at the Palace, and yet it tasted better than any meal she had eaten in years. Although she knew that her life at that moment was in grave danger, she had never felt more calm and relaxed or free to just be herself without giving heed to the protocols of Court.

Occasionally, during the evening, she had caught Aramis' eye and the two of them had held eye contact for a few seconds too long. If anyone noticed this, they were either too polite or far too respectful of the Queen's position to mention it. The longer she spent in Aramis' company, the more fond she grew of him. He had a handsome face, there was no denying it, but then she had met many men with handsome faces in her life. Aramis was no more handsome than any of them, and yet there was a quiet, sweet gentility about his demeanour that seemed to have been bestowed upon him by nature and not by birthright. Although he was a fearless soldier and had no compunction over killing anyone who may threaten his King - or, she suspected, his friends - he had a mild, charming aspect to his spirit that was utterly beguiling.

At one point, late on in the evening after more wine had flowed than anyone cared to admit, Anne asked Aramis to tell her of some of the Musketeers' exploits in the service of France. Aramis gladly regaled her with greatly exaggerated tales of bravery, stupidity and the fine line between the two. His stories were often exciting and mostly hilarious. There seemed to be many opportunities for reenactments of particular moments in their adventures, and Porthos was always glad to assist in playing the part of Aramis' opponent in one of their many battles - and on one occasion, he played the role of a damsel in distress, whom Aramis had saved from a fate worse than death, with spectacular aplomb. Anne, d'Artagnan and Constance laughed until their sides ached and the tears of mirth ran down their faces, and Athos sat at the head of the table, smiling indulgently at his two friends. They had spent five years in service of the King together and he didn't think he had spent a single second of that time being bored in their company.

Eventually, Constance noticed the Queen stifling a yawn and her eyelids growing heavy.

"Are you tired?" she asked, kindly. Anne looked at her wearily and nodded.

"I'm afraid so, I don't think I'm used to so much excitement!" she said.

"Your Majesty is more than welcome to sleep in my room for tonight - I'll stand guard here," d'Artagnan said. Anne nodded.

"Thank you, d'Artagnan. You are very generous," she said. She stood up and everyone else in the room also stood out of respect. Constance showed her to the bedroom and turned the bedclothes down for her.

"I'm sorry it isn't as comfortable as the room you're used to - but I hope you sleep well," Constance said, looking around the small room and down at the small, hard bed and feeling dreadfully inadequate. Anne squeezed Constance's hand warmly.

"I shall sleep soundly tonight. I have my friends to protect me," she said, kissing Constance softly on the cheek. Constance blushed furiously and curtseyed.

"If you need anything, please just call. I will be keeping watch with d'Artagnan," she said. Anne's eyes widened. "I'm not going to leave it to a bunch of men to protect my home from marauders!" she explained with a grin. Anne giggled and nodded. "Sleep well, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Constance. I hope you manage to rest well too," she answered.

Constance returned to the kitchen and sat beside d'Artagnan.

"Don't you three have barracks to go to?" she asked, looking at Porthos, Aramis and Athos. Porthos and Aramis exchanged a glance and then looked at Athos.

"We thought we were keeping guard here," Athos said. Constance let out a cry of consternation.

"This is my home, Athos! I'm a married woman! I can't have four men and two women staying with me while my husband is away! What would my neighbours think?" she demanded. "d'Artagnan and I will stay up and keep an eye on things," she said. Porthos let out a snort of laughter.

"I bet you will!" he said, meaningfully. Constance and d'Artagnan frowned at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. Porthos coughed awkwardly and looked away.

"Just... nothing," he muttered. Aramis shot him a look of exasperation and picked his hat up from the kitchen counter.

"We will return at sunlight and decide what to do then. Hopefully Sophie will have rested enough by then and be able to help us," he said, fixing his hat firmly on his head. Athos looked at him.

"Sophie is still badly injured, we can't move her," he said. Aramis nodded.

"She'll be fine," he said, carelessly. "If women were able to become Musketeers, she would be one of the strongest in the entire regiment." Athos' eyebrows raised, but he didn't make any further comment.

Finally, Athos, Porthos and Aramis left for the barracks, and Constance turned to d'Artagnan.

"When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn't expect the Queen to be having her supper with us tonight!" she said, sitting beside him at the table. d'Artagnan chuckled.

"I'm sure she hasn't eaten such good boeuf bourguignon in all her life," he said, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. She pushed his arm playfully and giggled.

"You're just trying to sweet-talk me so I won't tell my husband that you're a month late with your rent again. Again!" she teased him. He held up his hands defensively.

"Can a man be punished for speaking the truth?" he asked. They held each other's gaze, smiling fondly at each other. "I'll take the first watch, you look tired," he decided, changing the subject as he suddenly felt uncomfortable and couldn't quite trust himself to not take her in his arms and kiss her. Constance shrugged.

"You may as well make yourself useful, while we're both here, alone together at last," she decided, her eyes gleaming wickedly. He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"How could I do that?" he asked, leaning in a little closer to her. She leaned towards him, so close that their lips almost touched, before she grinned cheekily and pulled away.

"There's a sink full of dirty dishes right behind you," she said, pointing behind him. "You'd best make yourself busy!"


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Sophie's eyes snapped open. The sky had just started to make its change from inky black to pale blue and there was an especially irritating small bird with a loud voice singing, as if on pain of death, right outside the window. It was time to get up. There was a dull ache at the back of her head and her sides hurt so much that she wanted to cry out in pain. Gritting her teeth and letting out a groan of exertion, she sat up.

There was much to be done. Pain must wait.

She rubbed her hands over her face and looked around her room. There was a bowl of water at the other side of the room and, to her delight, Constance had laid out a dress for her. It was was dark blue with white detailing on it and Sophie couldn't remember the last time she had even worn a dress, let alone one as nice as the one she now gazed upon. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

She dressed slowly and carefully, trying to inflict as little additional agony as possible upon herself. To her relief, she found that the restriction of her corset actually provided a considerable degree of support to her aching sides, gave a little respite from the pain she was in and, more importantly, she no longer found it too much of a struggle to breathe. Eventually she made her way to the kitchen and saw Constance and d'Artagnan sat beside each other, their backs to her as they faced the door. They were slumped against the table, fast asleep, Constance's head rested comfortably against d'Artagnan's chest as his arm was wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Were the circumstances in which they found themselves less serious, Sophie would have gladly left them there to sleep peacefully together.

"Madame," she said in a loud voice. Constance and d'Artagnan were startled into wakefulness, looked bashfully at each other when they realised the position they had been found in.

"Sophie!" Constance exclaimed, smoothing her hair back and trying to think of something to say. Sophie smiled at her.

"Thank you so much for your kindness, and for the dress. It has been many months since I wore a dress at all, and many years since I wore anything so beautiful," she said. Constance blushed and looked at the floor.

"I'm pleased you like it. It looks very well on you," she said, her tone modest. "My husband is a merchant of fine fabrics and I am a seamstress. We may have a humble home but we like to think we will always be well-dressed."

"How are you feeling now?" d'Artagnan asked, his big brown eyes full of concern. Sophie grimaced a little.

"A little sore, but I will be fine. There is much to do. What time will Aramis be here?" she asked, easing herself into a chair and gritting her teeth through the sharp burst of pain that seared through her sides.

"Just after sunrise," d'Artagnan said. Sophie nodded, not quite paying attention to him as all she was aware of was the residual waves of discomfort that made her feel positively nauseated. "Somebody needs to wake up Her Majesty, we all must be ready to leave as soon as they arrive."

"I'll wake her," Constance said, heading towards d'Artagnan's room where the Queen slept soundly. Almost as soon as she left the kitchen there was a loud knock on the door. d'Artagnan opened the door and was relieved to see his three friends crowding the doorway.

"Come in, Constance is waking the Queen up now," he said in a low voice. "You're early."

"The sooner we leave, the more chance we have of getting the Queen to safety unnoticed," Athos said.

"Do we have a plan?" d'Artagnan asked. Athos nodded once and opened his mouth to explain exactly what the plan was, but stopped when he saw Sophie. There was something about her, especially now that she was clean and dressed more appropriately, that Athos found strangely captivating. She was pretty, but not exactly beautiful. There was just... something. He didn't know what it was. He wished he didn't like it so much, whatever 'it' was.

"You're awake," he finally said after a rather uncomfortable pause. She nodded.

"I look and feel far more like myself than I did yesterday," she said with a brave smile. Aramis beamed at her.

"Sophie, you look beautiful," he said. She laughed.

"I am a long way from beautiful," she said, blushing slightly.

"That could never be true," he answered. Athos glanced at him. Sometimes he wished he could speak as eloquently and unashamedly as Aramis did.

"You do look better in a dress," Porthos agreed. Athos pinched his lips together and sighed slightly. Both his friends had managed to smoothly and easily tell Sophie how good she looked. All he could muster up was a very obvious comment on her state of consciousness. He shook his head. It was too early and he was too hungover to think about Sophie any more, even if she was sat in front of him. They had more important things to concern themselves with.

"I have a plan," Athos said, firmly. Sophie looked at him.

"So do I," she said. He frowned.

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you want to hear it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly at him. He frowned slightly.

"If it's practical," he answered. Before Sophie had chance to reply, Constance and Anne walked into the room. All three Musketeers and d'Artagnan bowed respectfully, and Sophie struggled to stand. Anne waved her hand at them.

"Please, there's no need for ceremony today. We have much to do," she said. "Where are we going?" she asked. Before Athos had chance to answer, Sophie spoke.

"We are going to my father's farm in Rouen," she said. Athos glared at her. Her father did not feature at all in any of his plans, least of all his plans concerning the Queen.

"Monsieur Boniface has a farm with plenty of land, we will be quite safe there," Aramis said with a nod. "In fact, the location would work well with the plan Athos has," he added, resting his right hand on Athos' shoulder. Athos took a deep breath and held it. It was just like Aramis to be the first to calm him down when he was in danger of losing his temper.

"What is your plan, Sophie?" Anne asked. Sophie looked at Athos.

"Apparently Athos has the plan, I merely have the destination," she answered with a soft, slightly impish smile. Athos held her gaze for a moment before turning his attention to Anne.

"Aramis will take you to the farm via the most direct route," he began.

"Aramis is injured!" Porthos said, pointing to Aramis' still-bandaged arm. Aramis shrugged.

"It is merely a scratch," he said, waving his free hand dismissively.

"This makes sense. They will know that Aramis is injured and will suspect that he is least likely to be travelling with the Queen. I presume your plan is to send out two decoys. They will expect him to be one of them," Sophie said. Athos looked at her unflinchingly but didn't respond. "Besides, he does know the way," she added, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"Would you feel safe travelling with me despite my injury, Your Majesty?" she asked. Anne looked at him and paused for a few moments as she considered her response.

"I would feel safer with no-one else," she said, quietly. He bowed his head slightly, looking at the floor briefly before looking back into her eyes for as long as either of them dared to hold each other's gaze.

"Sophie will come with me. Madame Bonacieux will ride with Porthos. We will each take slightly different routes," Athos said. Sophie and Constance nodded, Constance being not-so-secretly delighted to be involved on another of the Musketeers' adventures.

"What about me?" d'Artagnan asked. Constance looked at him.

"I'm not leaving my house empty so that spies can break in and destroy the place to find evidence of Her Majesty!" she said, firmly. "Someone will have to stand guard. What if my husband returns when the spies break in? I would be a widow within five minutes! I can use a sword, you know that. I will be safe. Porthos certainly won't let any harm come to me," she added. Porthos nodded.

"I'll guard you as though you were the Queen herself," he promised, his tone and expression both sincere and full of warmth. She smiled at him briefly before looking at d'Artagnan for approval. Not that she needed it. She just wanted it. He pursed his lips and shook his head in resignation. He knew better than to try to talk Constance out of doing anything she had set her heart upon.

"It's settled," Athos said with a decisive nod.

Within an hour, just as the sun had finally finished breaking through the horizon, Constance and Porthos left for Rouen. Both rode on Porthos' horse and Constance's body and head was completely covered by a large cloak. Athos stood away from the window and watched the street outside. Within two minutes, three men dressed in black mounted their own horses and rode away in the same direction.

"It's working," he said, his tone disinterested but his facial expression grave. An hour after Constance and Porthos left, Aramis and Anne followed suit. Sure enough, minutes later they were followed by another three men dressed in black. Sophie and Athos exchanged a concerned glance, but said nothing. There was little to say.

Around an hour later, Athos cleared his throat and fixed his steely gaze on Sophie. "Can you fight?" he asked. She nodded, grimly.

"Monsieur, I have risked my life on more occasions than I care to remember for Her Majesty. Should this be the last time, I will gladly die with honour defending her," she said. He paused before replying.

"We must go," he said. Sophie nodded, stood with effort and wrapped her long dark cloak around her, before putting the hood up over her face. He looked at d'Artagnan but said nothing, his expression saying enough. For all he knew it would be the last time he ever saw his young friend, and the thought of never getting to see d'Artagnan finally get his commission from the King, which he had every faith would happen in time, saddened him greatly.

Between them, Athos and d'Artagnan gently lifted Sophie onto Athos' horse. The pain in her sides was almost unbearable and brought tears to her eyes. It took every ounce of control she had to not cry out, as that would have given away the fact that she was not, in fact, the Queen.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. She was in too much pain to speak, but just managed to murmur an affirmation to him. He carefully wrapped his arms around her waist as he took hold of the reins. Straightening his back and making a point of not looking around him, he nudged the horse forward and their journey began.

Aramis and Anne were well on their journey, which was just over a day's ride from Paris. Aramis told her all about the Boniface's farm in Rouen, and how Sophie's father would not believe that the Queen of France herself would ever pay him a visit - not even when he saw her for himself.

"It won't be long, Your Majesty. This is a fine steed and has travelled further distances without any trouble at all. We'll soon be there," he said, brightly.

"It matters little," she said. "I am content here."

"On a Musketeer's horse on the way to a farm in the middle of nowhere with assassins on our trail? I wouldn't have thought that would be the way any monarch would wish to spend her Wednesday morning," he joked. She giggled.

"I am still content."

"You're not afraid?" he asked. She shook her head.

"The Queen cannot afford such luxuries as fear," she said.

"How about Anne?" he asked, quietly. She looked up at him and blinked once.

"Anne has never felt safer or more protected. She has no reason to fear," she answered. The moment of silence after she spoke would usually be the time that Aramis would take it upon himself to take her into his arms and kiss her. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was the fact that if he did, there was a very real chance that he would be hung for treason. Not to mention the fact that only one of his arms was of any particular use, which would render the whole action far less romantic.

"I wish I was as confident as you are," he said. "I am still injured, I would feel a lot better if I could fight with both hands. Fortunately it is only my left arm that suffers, and I stitched it up very well, even if I do say so myself."

"You sewed up your own injury?" she asked, amazed. He shrugged slightly.

"Needlework is a useful skill for a soldier to develop," he answered simply. She smiled and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He allowed his chin to rest on top of her head for a while as they continued to ride in a peaceful and happy silence.

Porthos and Constance had been aware that they were being followed for quite some time. If Constance was entirely honest, she was a little afraid. She had no fear for her own safety - as she had rightly pointed out, not only was she a capable swordswoman in her own right, but she was travelling with Porthos, a man who was a stranger to fear but an old friend of conflict. She was, however, afraid more than anything, that there was a chance she may never see d'Artagnan again. Even if the mission she now undertook together with the Musketeers and Sophie went exactly according to plan, there could be no telling what would happen to d'Artagnan left alone to battle against an untold number of henchmen to The Blue Falcon - whoever he was.

"He'll be fine," Porthos said, breaking the silence. Constance looked up at him.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"d'Artagnan," he said. She frowned a little in confusion. "You didn't need to say anything. The sooner you two stop messing around, the better all of us will sleep at night!" he said. She blushed and stared solidly at the horse's mane in front of her for a few moments.

"He just seems a little young to be left with such a big responsibility, that's all," she said. Porthos let out a throaty chuckle.

"I believe you," he said, his voice wet with sarcasm. Before Constance had chance to reply to him, they heard the crack of gunfire and Constance felt the air resistence as a bullet whizzed past her. Two more shots were quickly fired which also, thankfully, missed. Wordlessly, Porthos grabbed her tightly around the waist, muttered the words, "Hold on!" and threw himself from his horse onto the road, his arm cushioning Constance's fall. "Don't move. Don't breathe," he whispered into her hair. She trembled in his arms but didn't reply. "Just follow my lead. You can do this."

They heard footsteps walking towards them, crunching the gravel of the road beneath their feet. Porthos could sense that their assailant was merely a few feet from them, and knew that any movement from either him or Constance a moment too soon or too late would undoubtedly mean their very lives.

The moment he heard the cocking of the pistol, he moved with a speed and agility that didn't remotely match his size. He drew his own pistol, rolled onto his back, still keeping tight hold of Constance against him to protect her, and shot the man squarely in the chest. He barely had time to utter a cry before he collapsed heavily to the ground, lifeless.

No sooner had he fallen to the ground than his two accomplices dismounted and, their pistols now spent, drew their swords.

"That was a smart move, Monsieur!" one of them commended him. Porthos growled softly but said nothing as he drew his sword. "The odds are too highly stacked against you. Two against one is suicide. We will let you live if you tell us where the Queen is."

"Suicide? You underestimate me, Monsieur. I've fought more men than you before breakfast!" Porthos answered with a disparaging chuckle.

"No, Monsieur, you underestimate our abilities," he answered, an obnoxious smirk taking over his face that Porthos would have quite cheerfully punched out.

"What do you mean, two against one?" Constance asked, drawing her own sword. "Where did you learn to count?" The men looked surprised for a moment before they both burst out laughing at her. This did nothing to improve Constance's mood, and even less to deter her from running both of them through where they stood.

"A woman?" the second man asked, incredulously. Constance glared at them.

"Let's see how well you can laugh with my blade in your spleen!" she shouted. She exchanged a glance and nod with Porthos and lunged for the second man.

d'Artagnan's tutelage had been very detailed, and Constance had been an excellent student, hanging onto his every word, forcing him to stay with her for longer so that she got the moves just right. It was, Constance had explained, simply so that she could protect herself should the need arise. The fact that they got to spend several hours a day exclusively in each other's company was, neither of them dared admit, simply a happy coincidence. At that moment, she was extremely grateful that she had insisted upon his teaching her to fight. She almost felt as though he was with her, shouting his support, telling her when to lunge and when to block. She fought for her own honour, to ultimately protect the Queen - and because at that moment the only thing standing between her and her chance to see d'Artagnan again was the man in front of her.

When she lunged for the final time, she heard a sickening crunch as the blade sliced through the man's flesh and bone with no more difficulty than a blade slicing through a melon. He looked up at her in shock, and she stared back at him, the anger draining away from her as she saw the light in his eyes go out. Constance pulled the blade out and watched him crumple to the floor. She dropped her sword and her hands flew to her mouth as she started shaking in shock. She had taken a man's life before, when she had saved d'Artagnan, but never at such close range - and never with the smell of his blood so pungent in her nostrils. She was no warrior. She was a seamstress, a sheltered, relatively pampered housewife. And she had just gone into battle alongside a Musketeer against people who wanted to see Queen Anne dead.

She finally looked up at Porthos, who had just won his own fight, and wiped the blood from his blade onto his cloak. He looked up at her and rushed to her side.

"If d'Artagnan doesn't get his commission, I might put a word in for you!" he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. She looked up at him, her eyes large and anxious, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly in a warm embrace. "You showed true bravery and you fought with honour, Constance. You did well," he said, comfortingly.

She eventually pulled away from him and looked down at the two bodies before them.

"This isn't getting us any closer to the Queen - or Rouen," she said. "We should go." Porthos nodded his agreement and they walked back towards the horse.

"I hope the others have fared better than we have," he said, grimly. 


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

d'Artagnan waited impatiently at the Bonacieux home for well over an hour. He didn't like the idea of sitting around idly while his friends were out actively trying to save the Queen's life.

What if they were in danger? What if something terrible had happened to any of them? What if something had happened to Constance? His stomach churned at the very idea that she was hurt and he wasn't there to do anything to help. She had asked him to stay behind, but he was sure it was because she didn't want him to be in any danger. He strongly doubted that she was genuinely worried about an attack from their enemy.

He couldn't help but think that their entire mission would be more successful if other Musketeers were involved. After all, it was their job to protect the King and, by extension, the Queen - not to mention the famous motto by which they lived. If any of them knew that Athos, Porthos and Aramis were in danger while in service of the Queen, they would do anything they could to help.

The more d'Artagnan thought about it, the more he was absolutely convinced that the best way he could help his friends, Queen Anne and most especially Constance, would be by telling Captain Treville the whole story. Captain Treville would know exactly what to do. He may even know who this Blue Falcon was, and exactly why the Queen was so intent on protecting his identity.

With a decisive nod and a grunt of motivation, he got up, left the Bonacieux home and headed straight for the Musketeers' garrison.

The journey to Rouen was a long and painful one for Sophie. Athos insisted that she rest as much as she could as she would need all her strength in order to fight. Eventually, as the sun slowly started to make its final dip behind the surrounding countryside to make way for the moon, they stopped in a well-protected area to make camp for the night.

"Thank goodness it's only a couple of hours' ride in the morning," Sophie said, holding her sides.

"When this is over, you should take time to rest at your father's house," Athos said as he carefully lifted her down from the horse.

"I will rest if I have the opportunity," she said. "You know how this life is." Athos held her gaze for a moment in quiet contemplation, before looking away and tilting his chin slightly downward.

Sophie helped as much as she could with setting up camp. She wasn't especially fond of sleeping in the open air, but she did know how to make a fire and, with great effort, she had soon collected enough wood and kindling to make a bright, cheerful fire that they quickly gravitated towards in order to take the chill from their bones.

They ate the simple evening meal that Constance had put together for them, and washed it down with several glasses of wine. The wine, fortunately, seemed to dull Sophie's pain a little. The conversation was minimal, which suited both of them. Occasionally, Sophie turned to look at Athos and admired the way his face looked in the firelight. He wasn't as overtly handsome as Aramis, and he wasn't as big and powerful as Porthos, but there was no doubt that Athos was an undeniably attractive man. His blue eyes that said far more than his mouth ever did, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiled, very occasionally, at the things his friends said or did, the faint freckles on his cheeks, his unkempt hair that often fell into his eyes, making him blink and shake his head quickly to restore clear vision. There was something about him that she hadn't seen in another man in quite some time. Even the way he looked at people, especially her, made her feel unspeakably flustered.

"How long have you worked in the Queen's service?" he finally asked, pouring another cup of wine out and passing the flask to her. "I don't recall seeing you."

"That's because I'm a very good spy," Sophie said, with a grin. Athos looked at her and, almost against his better judgement, smiled at her in return. "I was assigned to be Her Majesty's personal emissary when she first came to France. I have been in her close confidence ever since."

"So, you know who the Blue Falcon is?" he asked. She nodded.

"His name is Juan, and is the Queen's distant cousin," she said. "They are of a similar age and played together as children. When she left Madrid, he took it as a personal affront and swore his revenge. He has made several attempts on the Queen's life already. We refer to him as the Blue Falcon to protect the Queen's embarrassment as much as to protect Juan's identity."

"He was in love with her?" Athos asked. Sophie shrugged.

"I presume so, or at least, he desired to possess her, which is not the same as love," she said. "If you ask me, he is insane." Athos let out a grunt of derision.

"You speak of love as if it is a noble emotion," he said. "It is a curse and the worst form of insanity."

"I don't believe that's true," she answered, firmly. He looked at her sharply. "I believe that were it not for love, the world would be a far more cruel place than it already is. However, I also believe that love is not meant for everyone. There are things that sometimes we have to sacrifice for the greater good, and unfortunately love is often one of them."

"You are a woman, you are told from birth to think that way."

"My thoughts are unrelated to my sex. I am a servant of France before I am a woman, and I tell you what I believe from what I have seen and experienced during my life, Monsieur," Sophie said, her voice taut with indignation. Athos didn't reply and, after a pause, she spoke again, her voice soft and kind. "You sound as though you also speak from experience, Athos."

Athos took a deep breath and held onto it for several seconds before slowly exhaling.

"I do," he said, downing the rest of his cup of wine. She reached out and squeezed his arm gently.

"I'm sorry," she said. He didn't look at her and fixed his gaze on middle distance as he spoke in a cold and distant tone.

"You did nothing to cause it, your apology is unnecessary."

"I know," she said, squeezing his arm again.

Athos looked at her and smiled again. He didn't really know what to say to her. She seemed to be completely unfazed by anything he said, even when he purposely said something in order to provoke a reaction from her. She would defend herself and her beliefs, she seemed to show little fear, and she was intelligent. He especially admired all of those qualities greatly in a woman, as they were so rarely manifested.

"We should rest while we have chance," he said, deciding to completely change the subject. "I'll take the first watch." Sophie nodded her agreement and gingerly moved closer to him. She rested her head on his chest and her arm across his stomach. "What... exactly... are you doing?" he asked, a little uncomfortable.

"You must know very little of espionage. If we are seen by the enemy, they will merely think we are a poor couple lost on a long journey," she said.

"While I am in my Musketeer uniform?" he asked, doubtfully. She grinned cheekily at him.

"Uniforms do come off," she said, her eyes glinting with mischief as she wiggled her eyebrows. Athos' eyes widened slightly.

"Madame, I do not think-"

"I'm a grown woman, Athos, I have seen everything before," she interrupted. He looked her disapprovingly.

"Not everything."

"Just take off your doublet, I promise your virtue will remain intact," she said. "Unless you think it may help our cover," she added, unable to contain her giggles. Athos let out a sigh of disdain and gently moved Sophie away from him so he could remove his doublet.

"France asks a lot from her servants," he muttered. She let out another shout of laughter before snuggling back into his chest and closing her eyes.

"Goodnight."

"I'll wake you in four hours."

"Do you always say such romantic things to a woman, or am I special?"

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Invariably," she answered. He could feel her cheeks moving against his chest as she smiled.

"You were less trouble when you were unconscious," he said, his tone gruff and completely unmatched by the grin on his face which he knew she wouldn't see.

"That's another thing we have in common. You were less trouble when I was unconscious, too," she answered, squeezing him affectionately around the waist. Athos rested his left arm around Sophie's shoulders as she slept. He pulled her cloak tightly over her as the fire dwindled, and she murmured slightly in her sleep.

Athos closed his eyes briefly and shook his head as he looked down at her. He was sure that the Queen and Constance together would have proven to be less of a nuisance than the one woman who now slept soundly beside him. Still, he wasn't altogether sure that he would want any other woman beside him at that moment - no, not even the Queen of France herself.

It was an hour after sunrise when Aramis and Anne arrived at the Bonface farm in Rouen. Everywhere was locked and even the animals still slept.

"I feel a little guilty presuming upon Monsieur Boniface at this hour," Anne said. Aramis shook his head.

"Nonsense. You're the Queen. His home is yours," he insisted, dismounting his horse. He gently helped Anne down and she walked in front of him to the door of the farmhouse. He grinned at Anne. "I must say it has been many years since I made Monsieur Boniface angry. I'm quite looking forward to this!" he joked.

Without waiting for another moment, he hammered with the side of his fist as hard as he could on the door.

"Open up, in the name of the Queen!" he roared. "Samuel Boniface! Open the door!"

"Aramis, please, I'm sure he will hear us without all this fuss!" Anne said, embarrassed.

"Who the hell is this! Do you know what time it is!" a gruff voice shouted from within. Aramis raised an index finger victoriously and grinned widely. Anne shook her head and smiled indulgently at him, trying her hardest not to laugh.

After a lot of clanking of bolts and creaking of handles, the door finally opened and, for the first time in almost twenty years, Aramis looked into the face of his father-in-law.

"Monsieur Boniface!" he said with a grin. Boniface's face fell.

"René d'Herblay!" he growled. "What do you mean by calling here at this time?"

"The King's Musketeer acts under my orders!" Anne said, her tone level and full of authority. Boniface briefly looked at her.

"You speak as though you are the Queen of France herself, young woman," Boniface said.

"That is because I am the Queen of France, and you will take care in the way you address me, Monsieur," she answered, pulling the hood of her cape back. Boniface gasped in amazement and immediately bowed low to her.

"Your Majesty, I beg of you, forgive your humble servant," he said, his voice now shaky and frail. She smiled benevolently and touched his shoulder.

"You are forgiven. But we waste time. I come to you seeking shelter and protection from an adversary of France. Your daughter Sophie is my personal emissary and friend - and she told me we will be safe here," she explained. Boniface ushered them both in and made them sit at the table while Anne explained everything, and Aramis told him exactly what they would need to defend themselves from an inevitable attack. Fortunately, living on a farm, Boniface was not short on either guns nor amunition to protect his livestock from predators both human and animal.

Within an hour, Athos, Porthos, Constance and Sophie had all arrived. Boniface fussed over Sophie and made her lie down in her room while he prepared breakfast for everyone.

"You are very kind, Monsieur," Porthos said as he tucked into an enormous plate of cheese and ham.

"I'm just sorry it is so early in the morning, Monsieur Porthos, I would have made bread," Boniface replied. Before he had chance to offer anyone a cup of wine, a bullet shattered through the window pane and straight into his shoulder. He screamed with pain as he fell to the floor.

"Protect the Queen!" Athos roared, as the Musketeers instinctively took cover to prepare for the gunfight. Athos ran upstairs to get a better vantage point and shouted for Sophie to move.

"Help Monsieur Boniface," Aramis suggested, smiling kindly at Anne. "I know you want to help. Sophie will appreciate this most." He walked to the other side of the room and opened a secret door. "This opens from both sides, but you would be safest to hide in here for the time being," he said. Anne obediently hid herself inside the room and Aramis helped Boniface in after her.

"Thank you, René," Sophie said, running into the kitchen with a pistol in each hand. "Madame Bonacieux, can you shoot?" she asked. Constance nodded and Sophie tossed one of the pistols over to her. "Then you'll need this for your other hand."

"What about you?" Constance asked. Sophie grinned and retrieved another pistol from the top of her dress.

"Preparation is key in any battle!" she answered with a wink. She ran back upstairs, ignoring the pain she was in, to take up position by her bedroom window, the opposite side of the house to Athos.

"Do we have enough charges?" Porthos shouted.

"We just need to make each one count!" Aramis called back. He saw a hat moving just by the side of the barn and fired. Moments later he saw the man collapse to the floor. "At this rate we'll have charges to roll in!" he joked.

"Sophie, do you have enough charges?" Athos shouted from the front bedroom.

"Define 'enough'."

"Do you have more charges than there are men out there?"

"Roughly equal."

"Then I hope you can shoot."

"You take care of your men, Athos, I'll take care of mine!" she shouted back. He grinned and shook his head before taking aim at one of the men outside. He missed and ducked below the window just in time as a bullet smashed through the window, barely missing the top of his head.

"How do they know we're here? I thought that was why we had two decoys?" Constance shouted to nobody in particular.

"Her Majesty explained that Falcon has a very organised group of followers. He's also of the House of Habsburg, a relative of the Queen. He has more influence than we thought," Aramis shouted back, "We were outnumbered before we began."

"Is this Falcon here?" Porthos asked.

"He's out there somewhere. He's come for the Queen," Aramis said. "Or at least, he will try."

Constance and Porthos exchanged a glance. Constance looked scared and Porthos looked grim. He winked at Constance and grinned widely, to show that she had no reason to be scared, and she smiled gratefully back at him.

It wasn't long before the windows in the farmhouse and most of the walls were riddled with bullet holes. How the five of them managed to escape most of the battle unscathed was anyone's guess and, as far as Aramis was concerned, a genuine miracle.

"There are more coming!" Sophie shouted out in despair. Athos ran into her bedroom and looked out of the window.

"They aren't enemies - they're Musketeers!" he said, the look of relief on his face completely undisguisable. "We have reserves!" he shouted down the stairs. Aramis grinned.

"Just like Treville to spoil our fun!" he shouted back. At that moment, a bullet was fired into the kitchen and Constance let out a scream as it grazed her right arm on its way past.

The Musketeers seemed to instantly take over so much of the fighting outside that the people inside the farmhouse felt that they had very little to do. Aramis helped Constance to bandage her arm up, all the while commending her for her bravery and reassuring her that it was only a very slight scratch and that she was in no danger at all of suffering any serious injury.

Just as he had finished securing the last bandage, the door burst open and a tall, wiry man dressed entirely in peacock-blue entered the room, his sword already drawn. Porthos and Aramis looked at each other, momentarily confused.

"Don't tell me, this one's the Blue Falcon," Porthos said, dryly.

"Where is Anne?" the Falcon demanded.

"She is safe," Aramis said.

"She is not! Not now that she has betrayed her country! Betrayed me! She will never be safe!" he shouted. Aramis patted Constance absently on the back before standing up and drawing his sword.

"You openly threaten the Queen's life, Monsieur. It is now my duty to take yours," he said, his voice low, even and menacing.

"You will never best me, Musketeer. You are already injured," he said, pointing to Aramis' left arm. Aramis grinned at him.

"Let's find out, shall we?" he asked. The Falcon lunged at Aramis and their fight began.

The Falcon was entirely correct, Aramis' injury did prove to be a hindrance to his ability to fight. Even though he was right handed, his balance and concentration was affected slightly. He just hoped that his handicap would not prove to be fatal. His opponent fought well, as he had obviously been taught by the finest swordsmen in Spain. He seemed to Aramis as though he fought with two swords at once, not just one. Glancing briefly towards the door that the Queen was hiding behind, he offered a quick, silent prayer that she would know he had done his utmost to protect her.

Aramis had been backed into a corner and could see no way out. Several of the Blue Falcon's men had now entered the farmhouse and Porthos, Constance and the others were busy fighting them, so he could rely on nobody for assistance.

"I am sure, Musketeer, you feel that your death will be honourable. You will merely be the last person I kill before I put an end to the woman you worship as your Queen!" the Falcon declared, his eyes crazed with anger.

He started to laugh, a chilling, maniacal laugh of malice and spite - which was cut unexpectedly short by a strangled scream of agony. Aramis watched in amazed bewilderment as the life slowly drained from the Falcon's eyes and he slumped forward onto Aramis, before sliding down to the floor.

The Falcon's henchmen were momentarily distracted by the scream and the sight of their leader falling to his death. That moment was long enough for Porthos and Constance to finish their opponents and concentrate on what had happened.

In the middle of the room, to everyone's absolute amazement, stood Anne. A bloodied sword was in her now-shaking hands, and she stared down at the Falcon's dead body in horror.

"Your Majesty," Aramis began, his voice hoarse with emotion. She looked up at him.

"He was going to kill you. I... I couldn't let him," she said, her voice shaking with dismay. She dropped the sword to the floor and buried her head in her blood-spattered hands before bursting into tears. Without thinking and without a care for appropriate protocol, Aramis rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around her into a warm, comforting embrace.

"You saved my life," he murmured. She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I couldn't see you harmed," she answered, stammering through her tears. Aramis looked up at Porthos, both of them almost giddy with relief.

"It's over," Porthos said, sighing heavily. Constance leaned back against the wall, panting with exertion.

"Does that mean we can go home now?" she asked, hopefully. Despite the gravity of the situation, Porthos and Aramis couldn't help but laugh.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

When the furore had died down and the enemy that had not lost their lives had scattered in order to preserve them, Captain Treville busied himself in ensuring that the Queen was safe.

"Your Majesty has been through a terrible trauma," he began. She nodded, forcing herself to regain her composure.

"It is no more traumatic than the work you and your Musketeers must do on a daily basis to ensure mine and the King's safety," she said.

"That isn't quite the same, Your Majesty," Treville said. "It is our job to be shot at, not yours." In truth, Treville couldn't help but feel grateful that he was dealing with the Queen and not the King, as His Majesty would undoubtedly be hysterical by now, shaken to the core by the things he had endured at the hands of his enemy. Treville couldn't help but feel a deeper level of respect for the Queen than he had ever thought possible.

"It is birthright that made me Queen, but it is a conscious decision that made you my protectors," she said. "Thank you. I will ensure that the King knows of your actions above the call of duty - I am sure he will find a sufficient way to express his gratitude," she added with a wry grin.

"Your Majesty is very kind," Treville said with a grin as he bowed low to her. She smiled gently and turned to Aramis. Treville, seeing that Anne's attention was now focussed elsewhere, took the opportunity to call his Musketeers to order and prepare to return to Paris. He disliked farmers and had never been especially fond of Rouen in the first place, the less time he spent there, the better he liked it. He ensured that supplies were handed out and that all wounds sustained in battle were tended to before instructing the men to ready themselves for the journey home. Anne, meanwhile, walked back towards Aramis. Somehow, even just knowing he was close beside her was enough to make her feel brave and capable of anything. She only wished that she viewed him with the same level of indifference as she did any other man. More accurately, and safe in the knowledge that her private thoughts were invisible to all around her, she wished that she felt as strongly for her own husband as she felt for the Musketeer.

"I thought you wanted The Blue Falcon to face trial?" Aramis asked. She shook her head.

"I did. He is my cousin, I thought I at least owed him that much. But in the moment, my concern for a soldier who has continually proven his loyalty to me proved to be of greater importance than my concern for a relative who wanted to see me dead," she said, honestly.

"I must say, it is a decision I'm glad you made," he said with a brief chuckle. Treville cleared his throat to interrupt and Anne turned her attention back to him.

"We must leave, Your Majesty. The King is very concerned about your welfare," he said. She nodded.

"Of course. I'm sure he is," she said, unsure whether she actually believed her words or not. She looked at Aramis and smiled. "I see you still wear the cross I gave you," she said, visibly pleased at the fact. "No doubt it has kept you safe, just as I said."

"No doubt," Aramis replied with a warm smile as he bowed low to her. Treville helped Anne onto his horse and readied himself to leave.

"You will report back to the garrison immediately," he said to Athos. Athos nodded once and Treville rode away, accompanied by the rest of his company of Musketeers. Aramis watched Anne until she was little more than a dot on the horizon and sighed sadly.

"Poor René," Sophie said, squeezing his good arm comfortingly. "No good will come of these feelings. It wouldn't be so bad if the Queen didn't return them." Aramis looked at her sharply and she raised her left eyebrow at him. "Are you going to try and pretend with me? I've known both you and the Queen for far too long," she said, gently. Aramis put his left hand over Sophie's and sighed again.

"It was good to see you again, Sophie," he said. "I hope it won't be so long before we work together again."

"I'm sure it won't," she said.. She stood on her tiptoes and softly kissed his cheek. "Be safe, Aramis."

Sophie looked over to Constance and nodded her thanks as she caught her eye. Constance was being fussed over by d'Artagnan, who kept stroking her face and looking into her eyes, checking and double checking that she hadn't suffered any serious injury. He would never have forgiven himself if anything bad had happened to her. Constance patiently reassured d'Artagnan at least ten times that she was fine, and that the graze on her arm barely hurt any more.

Sophie smiled ruefully as she watched them interact. Two couples so obviously in love with each other, yet neither destined to be truly fulfilled. It made her feel so helpless - neither Aramis, d'Artagnan, Constance nor the Queen deserved anything less than complete happiness, and she could do nothing to secure it for any of them. There were things in all of their lives that were, perhaps not as important as love, but more demanding of priority. Duty, honour, fidelity - all noble enough motives to ensure all four would be eternally miserable without their true loves. She shook her head sadly.

"Not all can make room for such luxuries as love," she muttered. She finally turned and looked at Athos, who was stood quite a way from the others and staring intently at her. Walking towards him, neither of them could quite help but smile at the other.

"Do you have your next mission, Sophie?" Athos asked, a slight hint of mischief in his tone. Sophie's eyes sparkled as her grin widened.

"Her Majesty has instructed me to stay here, recover, care for my father and clean up the mess you Musketeers have made!" she said, sternly. "Is this what you do? Turn up uninvited at a poor farmer's house, smash the place up and then ride off into the sunset?" she asked. Athos paused for a moment as he made a pretence of considering her question.

"Invariably," he said, his expression deadpan. Sophie shook her head in mock despair. "I trust we will work together again."

"I certainly hope so," she said, seriously. They held each other's gaze for several moments too long, before Sophie suddenly took hold of Athos by his collar and kissed him deeply. "I don't think I would have wanted to say goodbye to you without at least knowing what that felt like."

"You put me in a very untenable position. Now I'm obligated to find out what it's like to kiss you," he said, tightening his grip on her and kissing her. "Just like a woman to play unfairly," he said, his voice soft as his lips lingered dangerously close to hers.

"Just like a man to pretend he doesn't enjoy it," she answered. He grinned at her before looking over at Porthos and nodding.

"Goodbye, Sophie," he said.

"It is merely an au revoir," she answered, firmly. She squeezed his hand affectionately before watching him walk away to round up the other Musketeers. Within a few short minutes, au revoirs had been said, hugs had been shared and hats had been waved as Sophie bid farewell to the five friends.

Two days earlier, she would never have imagined in her wildest dreams that a mission for the Queen would have reunited her with her lost love and provided her with four more friends in the process. Her cracked ribs and bruised face were far easier things to predict from a mission of such severity, however. Holding her sides and wincing in pain as the rush of adrenaline from both the fight and the kiss now completely drained from her body, she turned to go back inside the house. She knew that she needed to take some time to recover from the amount of stress she had put herself and her poor body through during the previous two or three days, but that when she recovered, Queen Anne would have much more work for her to do.

Although Sophie had no way of knowing what plans Anne had for her future, in her heart she already hoped, more than anything, that her chance to work with her new friends in the Musketeers would come sooner rather than later...

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who has read, commented and left reviews for this story. I can't tell you how much your support means to me. I am delighted that you've enjoyed reading it. You are the best. Thank you so much.


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